Smoke and Mirrors
by SardonicRequest
Summary: Just smoke and mirrors, that was all it had ever been. A facade of deception everyone was fooled by. We were all pawns in a game of death, under the illusion that we fought for peace.


_1185, Assassin's Stronghold, Masyaf_

* * *

'Come closer child,' a cold voice rang out, uninviting, smacking off the stone walls.

Her steps struck the hard floor with the clarity of shame, echoing loudly as the sound droned an unfamiliar phrase in her mind. The taste of failure, and the added twang of metallic copper was still bitter on her lips blood streaked from them, running dark and crimson down a dirty face.

'I thought I had made my instructions perfectly clear,' Al Mualim announced to the room at length. A snigger came from the shadows, clearly some _malcontent_ revelling at her current position.

She quickly wiped the pooling blood from her lips, 'Please, I-,' Cala began, anxious to redeem herself.

'Be silent!'

His harsh words were like a slap to the face. Silence was the only sound now, and it rung in her ears harder than the clearest bell. But it was quickly interrupted by the continuation and long drawing out of her failure.

'Your sheer impudence reflects my poor judgement…' Al Mualim looked at her unsympathetically before turning to look out to the courtyard. 'You shame not only me, but the entire brotherhood.'

'Perhaps that is the problem,' he remarked with ease, 'For you are not a brother.' He turned once more to scrutinise her with distaste.

Cala felt the true sting of her disgrace and lost pride, and lowered her head to the great assassin. Words rose in her throat but were strangled quickly as a comment was thrown from the darkness.

'Merely a woman posing as one,' it said, arrogant and cruel in tone, and with intent to continue. She frowned.

The master fixed his rigid gaze on his prized pupil, 'Hold your tongue Altaϊr. For one of your years you lack the grace of silence.'

His attention was resumed on her, and his face adopted a more pensive expression. 'As for your punishment,' he said in a low voice as his fingers laced around a sword's hilt.

Panic burst inside her chest in alarm, and her voice protested as she spoke. 'Master,' she pleaded, 'if I may-,'

'You may not.' He interrupted quickly. 'I had expected more in the way of grace from you.' The sword danced in his fingers, catching the late afternoon's last shafts of amber light. 'But it seems all my perceptions of you were false.'

An audible scoff came from Altaϊr's direction, and the master shot him a look of mingled irritance and exasperation. He addressed Cala once more. 'Up until now you have had an unchallenging role within the brotherhood.'

Her eyes were mesmerised by the sword as it swayed slightly in his hand. 'This will change.'

'From today your training will be the same as every other brother's. I will assign someone to oversee your progress within our ranks.' He placed the sword on his desk with a flourish.

Cala's head lifted slowly, her eyes flickering to the sword's blade.

'Rise, child,' he said somewhat softly, 'and you may go, but if you do not improve, I will leave you only where you can be accepted. Brothels, sewers…' He trailed off and pierced her with his calm stare.

'It is your choice; my patience only stretches so far.'

* * *

She had hurried out, ears deaf to any sound but the resounding threat that had come from the old man. Her eyes pricked with tears that begged to fall, but she wiped her face angrily. 'No.' she scolded herself in a determined tone, 'I will not let this break me.'

She walked, venturing into the courtyard, noises assaulting her in every direction. The air was bursting with the shout of exertion and encouragement coming from the training ground. Rauf, the permanent weapons trainer was giving his advice to two sparring novices. Snatches of conversation drifted into her ear, one suggesting the use of dodging attacks more often, another from a spectator remarking on the particular techniques of the assassin.

Her feet were dragging heavily she threw down her dirty hood, unconsciously stepping towards the direction of the blacksmith, towards the familiar and oddly comforting sounds of the hammer striking the anvil.

These noises stopped to her annoyance, but as she looked up she was greeted with a much more welcome sight. A man had set down his hammer and raised his hand in a small gesture of greeting. She rushed to him.

'You're back,' Hassan said with a smile, 'I'm glad you're safe.' He paused, and his brow furrowed with worry, 'But your mouth, what happened to it?'

She waved her hand in nonchalance and wiped the blood away, 'It's nothing. Someone just got a little rough.' Her eyes darkened as she leant on the chipped wall.

He cast an observant eye over her quickly, 'You're not happy,' he said with a wounded voice, 'What happened?'

She folded her arms and threw him a withering glare which softened, 'It doesn't matter, Hassan…'

'If one of them…,' He glowered in the direction of the assassins, who had always been wary of her, but then glanced at her expression of exasperation. 'Forgive me,' He said calmly, taking her hand, 'You know I worry about you.'

'I failed the mission,' she stated simply, her eyes blurring slightly, but focusing quickly again, her face set in determination, 'I've been put on the same training schedule as the rest of the brotherhood.'

'You escaped with your life, Cala,' Hassan exclaimed, 'he cannot be too disappointed with you!' He stepped forward, and pushed his hair back from his face, 'You have a chance, and I know you make the most of your chances.'

He kissed her forehead quickly, and cradled her cheek.

'Use this one to prove the doubters wrong.'

She gave him a weak smile, 'Thank you, Hassan.' She took her hand away from his slowly, 'I must go now.'

While walking away he called out to her, 'I suppose I owe Al Mualim my thanks.'

She turned and cocked her head inquisitively, 'Hmm?'

He picked up his hammer once more, 'Had he seen it fit to kill you, I would have been inclined to do something reckless.'

She smiled once more, stronger than the last, 'You would follow me to the grave?'

'I would follow you anywhere.'

* * *

Al Mualim watched the girl leave with dwindling interest, throwing a comment to his companion. 'I brought her in for stealth, not for shame…,' but Altaϊr had focused elsewhere, as opposed to his usual total attention. He muttered quietly to himself, 'for who would suspect a woman…?'

His words faded quickly, as though mocking him for his foolish lapse of judgement.

'Now,' the older man said, suddenly behind him, 'the reason I called you here, Altaϊr.'

Amber eyes met colder ones.

'Yes, Master?' the assassin put forward, his tone implying it was less of a question than a statement.

Al Mualim smiled briefly, 'We have some…,' his mind searched for the right term, 'guests, coming to Masyaf in the near future.'

The younger man's expression filled with his normal disdain, 'Guests.' He tried slowly, the syllables rolling off his tongue, dripping with venom. 'In what sense do you mean, Master?'

The cold smile returned to the grand assassin, 'A noble family from the far regions of our world, Altaϊr.'

'So they have travelled a great way,' the addressed stated, 'what are their crimes?'

'No crimes.' The bearded man knotted his fingers together and gazed out over the balcony of his sanctuary. 'It seems only to be here ahead of the chaos which is soon to sweep the Holy Lands again.'

Confusion swept over the face of the younger man, 'How do you know of events which have not yet occurred?' The same arrogant tone met with the question in his throat, giving it the feel of a demand for knowledge.

'Great wisdom, Altaϊr,' was the reply, accompanied with an annoyed sigh. 'Something you seemingly lack at this time.'

A frown spread over Altaϊr's face, his pride taking injury. 'What of them? Do you wish their deaths?' He said in a strung voice, impetuously turning away from his superior.

Al Mualim scowled in irritance at his childish behaviour, 'Soon they will enter Jerusalem,' he announced, ignoring the stubborn assassin as he sulked, 'But I wish for you to accompany them to Masyaf.'

On hearing this Altaϊr looked outraged. Al Mualim sourly noted that his name of, 'the flying one' had been well chosen for other reasons too. His feathers were constantly ruffled at the slightest inconvenience.

'Forgive me, master,' he began in a voice that suggested much the opposite, 'but I refuse to play _host_ like some common…_woman_!'

'You would do well to heed me, boy!' His temper had reached its limitations, and once more rigid silence descended awkwardly over the room.

Begrudgingly, Altaϊr bowed his head, 'Your will be done, Master, as is my duty.'

'Good.'

There was a pause, and then the older man spoke once more.

'Alliances are of the utmost importance… however much you prefer working alone, Altaϊr.' He paused again, as though weighing his words carefully. 'Go now, and do not disappoint me.'

The stubborn assassin left without a word.

* * *

Murr, edited version! And FYI, if I implicated it, I didn't mean to – Altair will not be getting off with anyone. Pleaassseee reviewww meeeeeee.

Dialogue – who_needs_alice

Narrative - sardonicrequest


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